


I have inmortal longings in me

by Melanie_D_Peony



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mutual Pining, Picnics, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), prince of omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_D_Peony/pseuds/Melanie_D_Peony
Summary: 'May I?' He asked and Aziraphale let his round face loll in his palm as means of an answer. The touch of their skin, the immense trust of the angel as his eyes fluttered closed was almost too much. Aziraphale gently pushed against the hold of his hand, making himself home in the one place where, in Crowley's opinion, he truly belonged.There were going to be further touches, many more yet to come. There was going to be a bed and the angel on it, the merest brush of lips against Crowley's.All credits to WhiteleyFoster, the artist behind Prince of Omens. Check it out here on AO3 or on tumblr!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	I have inmortal longings in me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).



> Took massive liberties when detailing snake worship, please disregard all the discrepancies, enjoy it in its made up entirety. 
> 
> This is a work of fan fiction. The author does not own any of these characters.

* * *

Crowley leaned back on his throne, appearing placid and unaffected by the succession of offerings brought to his feet by the people of the valley of the Nile. He maintained a carefully crafted, neutral expression. He was supposed to be a ruthless Snake God, devourer of souls. Humans had better placated him first, if they wanted their loved ones to reach their otherworldly kingdom. A supposed deity of chaos like him had to be difficult to please and hard to impress.

This wasn't a challenging thing to feign as he was actually bored by the formalities. He stifled a yawn as he watched the plentiful oblation. It consisted mostly of wheat, honey, grapes and dates and was meaningless to Crowley, who barely ever touched food. The occasional amphora of wine was always welcome, but the rest of the sacrifice was mostly likely to spoil, a waste really, he'd have to give some to street urchins, which is rather evil if you think about it, as… 

A flash of gold and white in the crowd made him abandon his reptilian stillness. He jolted upright and watched, mesmerized as Aziraphale approached his throne. 

The angel was a rare presence in his part of the town, which wasn't unusual. Aziraphale and him always seemed to be on opposite sides, historically as well as morally. Most of the time it was the angel who spent his days in pious company while Crowley joined whatever ragtag band of revolting ruffians he could find, but the fact that it was him who currently toyed with priests and priestesses while the angel bonded with the oppressed minority hadn't changed their dynamic much. 

What could be considered unusual was Aziraphale's outfit. He was dressed in nothing but a sky blue shendyt; a look that made Crowley's feeble heart do something rather complicated in his chest. The angel was also balancing a basketful of produce against his voluptuous waist but Crowley was too distracted by the way the gold plates adorned Aziraphale's wrists and ankles to care for the sacrifice. He stared as the angel lay the food in the growing pile by his throne than followed him with his eyes as he disappeared between the forest of columns in the hypostyle hall, having made sure first that Crowley saw where he went

The demon waved his chief priestess closer and whispered in her ear. She turned to the congregation and announced that the Snake God was satisfied and the people still barren with surplus food gladly filed out. Meanwhile Crowley pulled away from his seat with a fluid sequence of motions and sauntered after the angel. 

Aziraphale stood, waiting in a sea of reed, contemplating the lazy flow of the Nile beneath their feet. And even if his costume was unfamiliar, Crowley would have recognised that scowl anywhere.

'Really, dearest what an obnoxious display. Are you trying to give people the impression that you are going to eat all of that? This waste is outright blasphemous.' 

'Says the man who's just been worshipping a false idol.' The demon managed a weak tease and that was a rather great achievement in his current state. Gathering his composure somewhat, he quickly snapped and summoned a little picnic, complete with date and good wine, but the angel merely frowned at the appetising selection.

'This is not a social visit, Crowley. I'm here to warn you. What the pharaoh had been doing to the chosen people had caught Upstairs' eyes and there were rumors at the last briefing about…'

The angel continued to talk, but his voice faded to background as Crowley grew increasingly preoccupied with trying to drink in his sight. There was so much skin to behold, so much flesh, soft mountains of it, accented by inviting depressions. It made Crowley's mouth feel strangely moist while his throat seemed to have grown tight and parched. 

'Are you even listening, dear boy?' Aziraphale huffed, frustrated. 

'You've lost me, angel.' He admitted and collapsed on the linen blanket, hoping that he looked nonchalant, though he was simply trying to relieve his shaking knees of their burden. He offered an amphora to his companion. 'Why don't you explain to me again over a sip of wine?' 

He wasn't the original tempter for nothing. Aziraphale's resistance seemed to waver already. 

'Only if you kindly promise to stop staring.' The angel pleaded, blushing a little as he plopped next to the demon. Crowley was fascinated to see that flush of pink spread even to his chest. 

'I'm sorry.' He croacked with an obvious rasp in his voice. 'It's just that I've never seen you show this much skin before.' 

He nearly keened at the sight of the renewed flaring of red on the angels unblemished, porcelain skin. 

_Later there will be fault lines on the plush back, hieroglyphs detailing the work of a whip. Crowley will sport a scar to match them and together they'll speak the Apocrypha of two celestial beings who weren't supposed to love humans or each other, but did it anyway._

_But for now, the angel's skin was perfect, devoid of any marks and Crowley's had not known the kiss of a flaming sword._

'I know I look ridiculous. But I meant to be incognito. Heaven won't appreciate me coming here, giving you a tip off about our short term incentives, you know. I had to at least try to blend in, appear to belong, should they be watching.' Aziraphale sniffed indignantly, hiding his embarrassment behind a mouthful of wine, while Crowley contemplated biting his treacherous, forked tongue off.

'It's a nice look, angel.' He hurried to mumble. 'It suits you.' 

'You are most kind, Crowley.' Aziraphale laughed a little. 'But I've been made aware that I neglected this corporation, that I allowed it to grow… soft.' 

Aziraphale did look soft. He looked abundant, bountiful. And Crowley, a demon of temptation, the pagan angel of gluttony and greed, appreciated his generous shape immensely. Aziraphale looked as he'd be able to fill his spaces, hollowed out by Heaven, by the Fall. 

_Later he'll take all these thoughts and more and compress them into three simple words like he compressed nebulous gases and ignited them, turning them into stars in the early days of Creation. And much like the stars he'd made, the words will be heavy and burning, with a gravitational pull of their own._

_But he couldn't speak them just yet._

'I'm not kind. I'm never kind.' He growled instead. 'And you should dress like this more often.' 

Raking his eyes openly across the angel's silhouette, he snapped thoughtfully. 

'Just one thing.' He said, shuffling closer, holding a piece of kohl where there wasn't one a moment before. He reached one hand towards Aziraphale, fingers hovering mere inches from his cheek. 

'May I?' He asked and Aziraphale let his round face loll in his palm as means of an answer. The touch of their skin, the immense trust of the angel as his eyes fluttered closed was almost too much. Aziraphale gently pushed against the hold of his hand, making himself home in the one place where, in Crowley's opinion, he truly belonged. 

_There were going to be further touches, many more yet to come. There was going to be a bed and the angel on it, the merest brush of lips against Crowley's. And later, much later, in a palace, on a different bed there was going to be him, beholding the angel, all his softness and firmness, inside his serpentine clutches, between his legs..._

But now there was only the kiss of the kohl against Aziraphale's lids, the harsh blackness of trespassing, of treason. The devotion of a demon, tainting the angel. He was Fallen, after all, desecrating everything he'd touched. He'd wondered if the jolt of electricity that he felt jumping across the junction of their skin was merely a discharge of the clashing of their irreconcilable nature. He wondered if the angel's plush lips would burn like holy water, pressed against his own. He wondered if Aziraphale would perceive his taste as bitter as disappointment, or rot - sweet, like corruption. 

_Aziraphale's kiss did burn, in some way and he'd melted into the safety of it. It was a dreamlike, soft landing after a fall that had begun, long ago, with the simple sentence: "I gave it away." Crowley tasted against the angel's lips like salt from sweat and like the sweet wine he'd drank. Aziraphale's name on his mouth, escaping him as a desperate plea amidst the throes of pleasure tasted like a confession, like reverence, like love._

'There you go.' He muttered and fumbled blindy behind himself for the gold plate he summoned earlier. He chucked the dates it contained and held it up like a mirror for the angel to behold himself in the polished surface. 'You can look now.' 

But when Aziraphale opened his painted lids, the only mirror he sought were Crowley's eyes. Whatever he'd seen there made him shudder with pleasure, blush renewed, a tentative smile gracing his features. Pride was a sin and it suited the angel all too well. Crowley couldn't help loving the look of his filth on Aziraphale. 

'Thank you, dear.' The angel's voice was too full of gratitude like Crowley gifted him something far more precious than a simple rake of antimony sulfide across his lashes. 

'You could blend in even better, if you completed the look, when you come around next time.' Crowley shrugged humbly.

 _Next time, next time, next time_. It drummed between them, the crazed tattoo of a fragile heart.

_Next time._

_Lift home?_

_Anywhere you like._

_Run away together. Alpha Centauri._

_Next time._

'I'll bare that in mind when I visit again.' Aziraphale smiled, suddenly smug, the speed with which he accepted the new spoils never ceasing to amaze the demon. 

'So it's _when_ , not _if_ then.' He tried to tease, but the words tumbled out sounding stupidly hopeful. He dreaded that the angel would notice. He hoped he would too. 

'In the meantime, you have to talk to the pharaoh.' Still within arms reach, the angel wrapped a tender wrist around his fingers, where it continued to clutch the kohl, grasp asking for confirmation even more than his words did. 'Otherwise my side will unleash divine punishment on Egypt.'

'I thought She'd promised not to send more floods.' Their peace disturbed, Crowley decided to pull away, however much he hated the void the lack of their touch had created. It's just that he couldn't quite promise what the angel had been asking for. All infernal eyes seemed to be on this particular stretch of the Nile and on Crowley's activities. The amount of unwanted demonic attention he'd been getting lately was frankly disconcerting. 

'It won't be floods this time.' Clarified the angel darkly and Crowley couldn't help but scoff.

'Fucking loopholes.' He muttered angrily.

To plunge his mood further, the angel was getting up now. 

'Better stop lollygagging, I suppose.' He groaned and Crowley watched the shifting, taunting bundle of muscles his softness could barely conceal. 

_The angel was strong, strong enough to cradle his lump, injured body to his chest and walk across the Red Sea with him, while he fell in a numbing, dreamless sleep - because everything he'd ever dreamed of had happened in his waking moments, he had no need for further reveries._

'Lollygagging?' He repeated dumbly. 

'I'll see you around, dearest. And Crowley?' 

The angel was leaving and there was no guarantee of a repeat of this clandestine meeting. 

_It was going to be a while until Crowley thought of the Arrangement as an excuse to see him time and time again._

So when Aziraphale looked back at him, clearly about to ask for something, Crowley knew he won't be able to deny him, that he'll rush off to grant his his wish, however outlandish it may be, to not to chance losing the angel's loyalty. Sitting among the reed, watching Aziraphale leaving, _always leaving_ , he was prepared to drag the Moon from its orbit if that's what the angel would want. 

'You'll talk to him, yes?'

_He did, eventually, a look at all the good it'd done. The pharaoh thought he was warning him of an uprising amongst the slaves and ordered the massacre of their children to set a precedent, tainting the Nile red, spilling blood on Crowley's hands in the process._

'Fine.' He groused and the way the angel's face lit up was all the justification he needed. 'Just don't go thanking me.' 

'And you mind how you go.' Aziraphale nodded instead and when he turned, Crowley allowed his eyes to feast on him again, tracing his straight backed, warrior's stance, so contradictory to his mild, forgiving shape. It was this soft, prissy angel, watching Adam and Eve leave the garden with nothing but fig leaves to cover their bodies, who decided that fallen people needed forgiveness, not further punishment, as he gave his flaming sword away. It was that act that spoiled the demon for eternity. 

Sampling the angel's lingering scent, Crowley willed himself to stand. He had places to be, temptings to do. He had to arrange a meeting with a pharaoh. 

And the rest, as you know, is history.

* * *


End file.
